After
by Gavrilo-Princip
Summary: Post-movie, there's only one way it realistically ends. Multiple Character Deaths, M for Language and Violence.


Disclaimer: Fuck disclaimers.

Note: Two characters from the brilliant _Generation Kill_ make an appearance. Accordingly, I also borrowed traits and three lines of dialogue and used that to alter the characters of Ray and Brad a bit.

This story is the logical conclusion to the series, post-Serenity movie. A handful of people floating through space versus the entire, interplanetary government? It ends one way and one way only. Ask the lunatics at Waco, Ruby Ridge, or the people involved in the Gunpowder Plot. I do not want any reviews for this story. It's enough to see how many people read it. More on the reviews after the story and the bottom note contains contempt and abrasiveness. If you are easily offended and will weep sad, sad tears, then don't read past this paragraph.

* * *

><p>"Overlord, this is Hitman 2-3. How copy?"<p>

"Hitman 2-3, solid copy. Send traffic."

"Interrogative: is there any intelligence to suggest that target group will be on-world this cycle?"

"Hitman 2-3, wait one."

The man pulled his handset away from his ear and dropped it back to the dirt. With his left hand, he slowly moved up to mop the sweat from his brow as he peered through the scope of his rifle, down the hill into the small farming hamlet below. Beylix was in its summer months and the temperature had steadily climbed during the time he and his unit had been deployed on-world. He and his spotter were set up on a tall hill three quarters of a mile away from the no-name town in one of the more isolated sectors of the planet. There was zero shade on the rocky, semi-grassy hills ringing the collection of dusty buildings that sat quietly across the plain. Beside him, Brad spat quietly into the dirt and looked back through his spotting scope. Neither man spoke as they patiently roasted beneath the sun under their ghillie suits. The thick layers of multicolored burlap did wonders to completely conceal their position but it also trapped all of the ambient heat, in addition to their own body heat. The radio stayed silent.

"Well, Ray, I guess when they say 'wait one' they really mean 'wait five'," Brad commented. Ray laughed quietly.

"Dude, it's the fucking Corps. If they kept their promises, I'd start getting suspicious," he replied as he slowly and methodically swept his scope over the small town below them. The way they were positioned, they had eyes on the main thoroughfare of the town, if it could be called that. Though only a dirt road, it was one of the main supply routes linking these smaller towns with the bigger ones and, after turning into paved roads, linking the bigger towns with the cities. It entered the town from the north, and then became lined with shops and feed stores and bars before curving off to the south east after breaking past the final, weathered buildings that marked the end of town. Through the scope, he watched figures cross the road. Two small ones holding the hands of the larger figure. He adjusted his scope, pushing his view in closer to Main Street, and he could see long dark hair blowing in the wind behind the taller figure. For a fleeting moment, his thoughts turned back towards home before the harsh crackle of the handset brought him back to reality.

"Hitman 2-3, this is Overlord actual. Target group has slowed their approach to Beylix and will not arrive until tomorrow at the earliest. How copy?"

"Fucking goddammit, man. Another fucking night in our sleeping holes holding position!" Brad cursed, breaking noise discipline as he pushed away from his scope and its little tripod. He pounded the dirt with his fist.

"Overlord, solid copy, sir. What are our orders, sir?"

"Hitman 2-3, you and all other Hitman units will be holding position through the night. Periodic drone perimeter support on the hour. Report in on the hour. Relax, Hitman 2-3. Intel suggests tomorrow is our day. Overlord out."

Ray pulled the headset away from his ear and paused, staring along the length of his rifle before suddenly pushing the hood of his suit off of his head. Immediately, the slight breeze hit the beading sweat and he sighed, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling.

"Brad?" he said, eyes still closed.

"Yeah?"

"Let's break it down and head back to camp. I gotta take a shit."

Thirty-five minutes later, as the sun was almost done with its downward sweep, when the temperature was dropping and the sky was turning a deep, dark purple, the sniper-spotter team sat around a small campfire between their shallow sleeping holes. The fire was in a built up wall of rock that they had made to lessen the glow visible to an observer in the distance. Their packs and ghillie suits were stowed neatly at the ends of the holes and Brad reclined onto his and stared into the glow of the firelight. Next to him, well within arm's reach, was his automatic rifle. Ray sat on a short stack of rock that tottered precariously every time he shifted.

"Hey, hand me my data pad and get yours," he said, breaking the silence.

"Okay, but what for? We've been through the info like…a dozen times," Brad replied.

"Yeah, but let's go through the target package again. Just so we've got our information fresh for tomorrow."

"And then we'll go over it again tomorrow, won't we?"

"Probably," Ray admitted. Brad shook his head and laughed, but retrieved their data pads. The crackle of the fire mingled with the soft sigh of the tall grass that surrounded them blowing in the breeze and was joined by the quiet whispers of their pads booting up. Ray flicked his fingertips across the display and pulled up their target profiles.

"I still can't believe these people are responsible for the Miranda broadwave hoax," Brad commented, whistling lowly as he scanned the information that they both had already memorized. After a minute, he spoke again.

"You do know that the Alliance wouldn't send us after a bunch of hoaxers, right?" he asked. Ray nodded his head.

"Yup. By us being here, it confirms everything that's been said on the conspiracy sites all over the Cortex." Another moment of silence.

"Huh. So the Miranda thing is all true."

"Looks like." Ray wasn't sure exactly what these people expected to accomplish by releasing the Miranda vid, broadwave style. Sure, they reached pretty much everyone in the 'verse, but in the end, it didn't matter. The Alliance was infinitely powerful and the media on all the Core planets was state-owned and operated. Information throughout the systems was strictly regulated.

"What exactly did these retards think was going to happen, anyway?" Ray asked, "That the truth would actually _get out_? That it couldn't just as easily be explained away? That people would rebel and overthrow the Alliance?"

"I guess so," Brad laughed quietly and said some disparaging remarks about their targets' parents in Mandarin.

"Knock the Chinese shit off, dude. I can't stand it," Ray said, picking up a rock and tossing it gently at Brad who batted it away.

"Why? Because you never could learn it?"

"I was never interested in learning. The only places I have any interest in going have English as the primary, dude. No point in Mandarin, if you ask me. Back to what we were talking about…"

"Hey, you brought up the Mandarin thing, buddy," Brad interrupted.

"_Anyway_, these people were fools. Look at what happened: the Miranda wave hits. Everyone is confused and a little bit shocked. _Oh no, can our benevolent Alliance really be capable of this? Governments are always so gentle with their people and never, ever do anything even remotely below-board._ The Cortex is bombarded by queries about this mysterious planet, as if any remaining information wasn't scrubbed the millisecond the higher-ups saw that science chick's face splash across their screen. So what happens forty-five minutes after the wave? The Cortex goes down. People have no access to information. It took what? An hour before the Alliance had their explanation fully developed? Oh, that botched terrorist attack on Osiris three weeks prior? Well, that and this broadwave are linked! Yup yup! Anarchist types, don't you know? Trying to overthrow the Alliance. Probably those son of a bitch Browncoat remnants we've been hearing about. The Miranda wave was a poorly conceived attempt to dupe and confuse the good, Core-dwelling folk into feeling betrayed, but there is no evidence supporting this. Miranda? Miranda _who_?"

Silence fell over the camp as the flames flickered and flashed in their stone enclosure. Both men stared into the fire. In the distance, strains of music from some far off barn dance drifted across the plain, haunting and sweet.

"Just like that," Ray continued, all the energy of his previous rant gone, "Just like that, they explain away the whole thing as a hoax and who can prove otherwise? No one knows the co-ords for Miranda, and even if they did, the space around it is no doubt locked down tighter than a nun's pussy. For all we know, Miranda is completely made up."

"Well, that's not true anymore," Brad pointed out. "It's unlikely that the Alliance would deploy a battalion of Marines just to hunt and kill people responsible for a hoax."

"Exactly. By having us kill these poor, idealistic bastards, they're validating _every single thing_ they tried to cover up. It's stupid, dude."

"Aren't they worried about us spilling the beans? Think they're going to liquidate our unit?" Brad asked jokingly.

"We're a highly trained, highly decorated combat machine with the highest security clearances and the psych evals that prove that we don't really give a shit about stuff like this. They're not going to liquidate us. They're not worried about us spilling any beans because they know that none of us in the unit, though we've all doubtlessly made the connections that the Miranda transmission was real, none of us will say a word because none of us particularly cares. _We're in the fucking marines and we are used to getting lied to and deceived by everyone around us._"

Brad considered this for a minute. Though he didn't know _why_ he didn't care, he knew with all of his being that he didn't. So the Alliance lied and created a bunch of monsters during an experimental attempt at finding a way to control the whole 'verse. So what? Who cares?

"Okay, yeah, so I don't care. And I can tell you don't. But _why _don't you care?" he asked Ray. After a few quiet moments, he responded.

"I don't give a shit that the Alliance lied about their heinous bullshit because _all _governments lie to their people _all the time_ throughout _all of history._ Governments are all the same. And for as much as the Independent cause stated otherwise, if the Browncoats had somehow miraculously defeated the Alliance and sent them packing, within a decade or two, they would have been experiencing the exact same situation as before, but this time on the opposite side. All government starts off well-meaning and ends up in the exact same place. Without fail, bro. The Browncoats would have become what they swore they never would. That's why I really don't care: because it's all the same, no matter what."

"Pretty bleak view but I get what you're saying. I didn't enlist so I could question shit. I enlisted so I could serve. Get a little excitement, get some action. I'm not here to question Parliament. Let the constituents do that, right?"

"Exactly. We're Marines. We exist to do a job. All that exists to us is that job. Let someone else whine and analyze and complain and protest. I want a paycheck," Ray said, eyes stilled glued to his data pad. After a few minutes, Brad looked up from his own files.

"Still, this Tam girl is just a kid. And tomorrow we're going to kill her and her entire crew."

"She's not a kid. She's nineteen _and_ she's an insanely well-trained, dangerous operative _and_ she'd kill you without a second thought. Yeah, she's schizophrenic or whatever. Boo hoo. Life sucks, get a helmet. Anyway, it doesn't matter. She's the target. End of story."

"Yeah," Brad agreed. High above them, they heard the low whir of micro-rotors and their data pads began to chime.

"I'll sweep the perimeter, you call it in?" Brad questioned.

"Sure thing, bud," Ray answered, picking up the radio handset. As Ray spoken with Overlord, giving them their hourly update, Brad picked up his data pad and accepted the sync with the micro-UAV hovering overhead in the darkness. His screen flashed and then the interface for the drone loaded up. He selected the cameras and switched their filters over to thermal. On screen, far below the drone, he could see the blossoming heat of their campfire and the thermal signatures from their bodies. He zoomed the camera in until their images dominated the screen. He lifted his hand briefly and waved, watching his movements in real time on the data pad. Satisfied that the camera was operationally functional, he pulled the feed back until they were a small ocean of white heat in the otherwise cool gray of the surrounding fields. Brad slowly rotated the camera around their perimeter in an expanding, concentric circle, covering the entire surrounding area. He found no heat signatures until his cameras focused on the unnamed, isolated town they had spent the better part of the day watching. Between them and the town, over four kilometers of empty, grassy plains. Aside from the town, they were awash and drifting in a sea of nothingness.

After cycling through a few more filters and view modes, Brad was satisfied that they were completely alone and would remain so until they completed their mission and dismissed the drone. Ray dropped the handset and returned to watching the fire.

"Well, I'm gonna get some sleep. We've got a long day of tying up loose ends for the Alliance, Brad. First watch okay with you?" Ray asked, standing and stretching.

"Sure thing. I just wonder why our targets are delayed an extra day."

* * *

><p>"Kaylee, how're we doin'?" Mal asked, sticking his head into the engine room. Kaylee stuck her head out from one of the removed wall panels where she had crammed herself to repair an electrical blowout that had shut down their engine.<p>

"Everything's shiny, Cap! I fixed the converter couplings and as you can see, she's spinnin' again, but we're gonna need to stop for some parts when we get to Beylix," the mechanic replied, dragging her hand across her forehead and leaving a smear of grease.

"Long as you can get us to port, we can get us some parts and repair all our creaks and cracks," Mal nodded, smiling at his mechanic. She returned his smile and he nodded once more before leaving the engine room and headed up to the bridge to talk to his pilot.

"Engines fixed, sir?"

"Yeah, Mitch, and what did I tell you 'bout calling me that?" Mal chastised his pilot as he walked up behind his chair.

"Sorry, Mal," Mitch responded.

"Well now let's don't get crazy. You only been with us for not even six months now. Better you should stick to Captain."

"You're having fun with me, ain't you?" Mitch asked after a second of consideration. Mal nodded and slapped the back of his chair.

"Get us up and moving, boy. How long a setback we dealin' with?"

"Not more than a day. We'll get there tomorrow morning, _Captain_." Mitch say, turning back to the controls and re-entering Beylix's co-ords. Mal nodded and left the bridge.

A little over a year past Miranda and they were still flying. Sure, they were changed. Hard not to change after something like that. And their crew was most certainly not the same in a most literal sense with the addition of their new pilot, barely twenty-six years of age if he was a day, but still a more than adequate hand at the helm. Mal liked to think that Wash, may he rest in peace, would have approved of his choice of pilot. He wasn't as wryly funny as Wash, but he was outgoing and personable and was almost as talented as Wash had been. Still, though, Mal wasn't ignorant of the Wash-shaped, empty space on the ship. Even over a year later and though they all healed, they still felt Miranda.

Zoe had finally gotten around to healing up, emotionally speaking. For months after Wash's death, Mal would wake up to check their drift and find her sitting up on the bridge in her husband's old chair. He hadn't seen her once shed a tear about it, hadn't heard her cry or scream or rage against the 'verse and everyone in it. Mal just saw her sit there, blank, lost. Looking for something that could not be put right. It tore him up, tore the whole crew up to see it. Zoe was always so strong and that was the front that she was showing, but they all knew it was just that. You could sense her pain, feel it radiating off of her like heat from hot macadam. But eventually she started to come around. Spoke more at meals, interacted more with the crew. Mal even swore he saw her crack a joke with Jayne. Not a big one, and not one where she was smiling ear to ear, but she made a funny, he could swear she did.

Kaylee and the doctor were together, which helped her deal with the loss they all felt. Simon finally had something to focus on other than his sister and it seemed to do a world of good getting him moving towards "fixed". He hadn't known Wash as long as the rest of Serenity's crew, but he still felt his absence. In the days and weeks after Miranda, he paid everyone careful attention under the guise of medical checkups after such a damaging ordeal, but he was looking for more than that. Looking to see if he could make a difference, lift a burden, help someone heal. Simon was clumsy with this, as he was with everyone else socially related, but everyone appreciated it in their own way. Even Jayne, who on slow days with nothing to do would enter the infirmary to find Simon cleaning or doing inventory and would wordlessly lend his assistance.

The storm inside River's mind had quieted somewhat. Her thoughts and speech were clearer now, though she still had periods where lucidity seemed beyond her grasp. She had a particularly hard time dealing with her grief because of the added burden of being able to feel the grief of every remaining crew member. River had spent increasing amounts of time by herself, as far away from the crew as she could get. Everyone noticed and eventually Simon addressed the issue and the likely cause of over-feeling. At his urging, the crew was intent to let her be. Mostly.

After a while, Jayne had sought her out when she disappeared, claiming that she wasn't going to be able to stop feeling their grief any time soon and they weren't going to stop grieving, so she just had to deal with it if she wanted to continue to eat and live. He was always reserved with his emotions, for the most part, carefully observing and calculating and hiding. River had come out of hiding slowly at first to just be around Jayne and adapt to his carefully subdued thoughts and emotions. She would watch him rearrange cargo in the bay or sit with him in the galley while he leafed through a gun rag or cleaned weapons or, on a few rare and wondrous occasions, cook for the crew.

He had started to change since after Ariel, though at the outset of the events that would touch off Miranda he could readily admit that he had slid back into old habits of distrust and suspicion and self-preservation. But after losing first Book and then Wash, after watching his crew get beaten down and saved by a crazy girl barely eighteen years alive, he'd had to do some serious reevaluating. Having those doors slide up and then seeing River, soaked in blood and surrounded by results of violence of action had been somewhat of a revelation to him. Not in a big, life-altering sense, but in a smaller way. In a way that allowed him to realize that his own flesh and blood had been saved by someone he had tried to sell and then tried to banish from _Serenity_. By someone he thought of at turns as crazy and dangerous and some combination of the two. She had protected him, all of them, and saved their lives and by his own code of honor and conduct, he owed a debt to her that went beyond his own suspicions and prejudices. Once healed, he promised himself to look after her the way she had looked after him. Would force himself to, if necessary. Jayne wasn't simple and knew that she had saved them all and not him specifically or personally, but it made no difference. That kind of action was personal to him and he would repay it, however he could.

But that didn't mean that his new dedicated protectiveness (whether she needed it or not) came easy or without its fair share of headaches. He still had a mind to swear at her and be rude and make threats, but they both knew exactly how little of his heart was in it. For the most part, River was glad to have a new distraction and to have new paths of social interaction open up between her and a crew member who had long remained closed off, self-segregated from her.

The whole crew watched it happen. They watched Jayne hover over River before jobs that she insisted on going on, checking her equipment and making sure she was lucid and understood what was going to happen. They watched Jayne follow River at a distance through the Eavestown Docks when they landed to refuel and resupply as she walked with Kaylee to seek out replacement parts. The entire crew observed his language become less and less harsh, his words kinder (for Jayne), curious, attentive. He talked with River and listened to her talk, as best as he could. Sometimes for hours.

It made Mal uncomfortable, though he could see nothing inappropriate occurring and therefore said nothing. Kaylee thought it was cute. Simon had suspiciously little to say about it and Mal suspected he was just happy to see River lucid and recovering and gaining a firmer control of her thoughts and emotions. Inara was suspicious at first, and she and Mal would sit in her shuttle and drink tea and discuss what was occurring, but eventually she joined Mal's feelings of quiet discomfort.

Inara was the reason Mal was still standing. After everything that had happened, she had halted his downward sweep and held him up. They didn't verbally jab at each other anymore. Instead, they spent spare minutes and hours in each other's company, at first in total silence. Mal was never one for sharing, but she waited patiently for him to work himself up to the point where he could talk as he needed with her in order to get some of his own tumultuous thoughts and feelings out into the open. Once he started, Mal found it liberating, especially considering that he knew Inara would keep what he said to herself.

"Captain," Simon greeted, just outside the galley, "I take it we're moving again?"

"That we are, Doc. You seen Jayne? Need to go make sure our big sloshy cargo is all secure before we hit atmo tomorrow."

"Actually, I think he's in the cargo bay," Simon responded, a slightly off look on his face.

"With your sister?" Mal asked.

"With my sister."

Mal nodded and headed down towards the cargo bay. As he got closer, he caught strains of conversation and, curiosity getting the better of him, softened and slowed his approach until we was just outside the cargo bay, unseen. Well, unseen until River picked up on his mind being present. He tried to empty his mind while still following the conversation.

"They have their soil and their seeds, but they don't have the other requisite element," River said, running a hand through the condensation on one of the huge water tanks dominating the cargo bay almost from floor to ceiling. Jayne glanced up from where he was securing one of the massive straps holding the stacked water containers.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. The water. Right. Hey, come over here for a minute," Jayne straightened and looked around the cargo bay quickly before reaching behind a crate to grab something wrapped up in bulky fabric. River slid down the cargo strap she was twisted up in and landed lightly on the floor as Jayne set the object on the crate next to him. River walked over to him and he gestured to it and stepped back.

"Was diggin' around my bunk the other day, for one reason or another. Ain't important, I suppose. But I found this stuck up under my rack. Forgot I had it, honestly."

River stepped forward and peeled apart the fabric.

"Old armor of mine," Jayne explained, "You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I wasn't always this big and strappin'. I picked this up a few months after I left home. Was runnin' with a feller named Dexter and we was getting' shot at an awful lot, so I needed it. That all ain't important, neither, I guess. It don't fit me no more and I don't need it settin' around, takin' up space. If'n Mal's got a mind to take you on jobs with us, then it should fit you just fine. The plate carrier is a little worn, but it'll do what you need it to. Plates themselves is ceramic, good shape. Should stop anything we come across."

River ran her fingers across the webbing and closed her eyes as she caught _feelings_ and _scents_ and _places_ embedded in the vest. Jayne's history, transcribed in fabric in way that only she would ever be able to see. She smiled faintly and opened her eyes. Jayne's eyes were moving from the armor to her face as his face remained carefully blank. He tasted anxious.

"Thank you, Jayne," she said simply and his posture relaxed as she moved to undo the Velcro and buckles to try it on.

"Hell, girl, only thanks I need is you savin' my ass when I'm unable to do for my own self. No, that one sticks a bit. Here, here, like this," Jayne stepped forward to help her undo one buckle that had never seemed to work exactly right. She dropped her hands as he moved his forward, but they still brushed against each other. Neither commented. Jayne freed the problematic buckle.

"See how I did that?"

"Yes. Applying slight pressure to the rear lessens forward friction."

"Okay, sure."

She swept the vest off of the crate and began to twirl around as she pushed her hands up into the armor, lowering it over her head. By the time she had rotated back around to face Jayne, the vest had slid down into position and she had a silly grin on her face. Jayne rolled his eyes but motioned her forward and began to adjust the vest better.

"You gotta make sure these are tight so's the vest ain't slipping, but you don't want to choke yourself, neither. It ain't easy to run in armor, but it's a hell of a lot less difficult if this ain't flapping all over you as you go. _Ai ya,_ we gotta cinch them all the way closed cause you're so ruttin' skinny. How's that fit?"

"Optimal," she answered, stepping away to start twirling again before Jayne caught her by the wrist and pulled her back to inspect the surface of the vest for any torn pieces of webbing.

"I'm the Tin Man, Jayne," River said, reaching out and lightly poking the pressure point near his brachial plexus.

"Quit it. And it ain't tin. And since your first day on _Serenity_, it's been obvious you ain't a man," he replied as he brushed off a dusty section of the armor and stepped back, apparently satisfied with its condition. River poked him in the ribs and he jumped slightly.

"What's that for?"

"Pre-emptive strike. You were going to be gross in your next sentence," she smirked.

"No I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"Yeah, Jayne, you probably were," Mal said, stepping onto the upper catwalk and making his way down to the deck. Both heads swiveled in his direction and Jayne took a step back from River. Mal suppressed a smirk at making the mercenary jumpy.

"Curious. I didn't notice you rudely eavesdropping," River commented.

"No, I don't suppose you would have, what with all the gift-giving going on down here," Mal said, raising his eyebrows as he walked towards them. River smiled and Jayne frowned.

"Aw, Mal, come on-" Jayne started, but Mal held up a hand, halting his argument.

"Easy there, big feller. I was just havin' some fun. I take it you checked all the tie downs?"

"Sure did, Mal. This all's secured up tight."

"Good, good. Now, I do believe it's your turn to cook tonight, Jayne, and I've got a rumblin' going on downstairs-"

"Downstairs?" River questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Not that far downstairs, you filthy-thinkin' little girl. Less time with Jayne, Albatross. Jayne? Dinner, if you please?" Mal was slightly flustered but managed to not trip over his own words.

"On it," he said and turned to head into the galley to begin dinner, River trailing after him, twirling gracefully on her toes despite wearing an armor carrier with ceramic rifle plates.

Mal watched them leave and shook his head.

* * *

><p>The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Ray stirred water into the smoldering ash to kill the whisps of smoke still issuing from the remains of their campfire. He stood and looked down where Brad was still asleep in his hole and was glad for the few extra moments to himself that taking the last watch had afforded him. Tucking a bit of tobacco between his cheek and gum, he quietly moved at a half crouch into the grass and up a slight rise until he was elevated enough that he could look off to the north of the AO. The town was hidden from sight by the rolling hills, but he could still watch the sun illuminate the land as it rose. Ray spit into the dirt and shifted the wad of tobacco as the sky was painted pink and tendrils of daylight lanced across the darkness. He pulled his data pad out of a cargo pocket and paged through the pictures of their targets. Not seeing the words, he instead focused on their pictures, their eyes, posture, hair. The image they presented to the world around them.<p>

He had no illusions that they weren't people. He knew what they were, knew they had family and friends. The path he followed through life told him specifically in situations like these to look upon his enemies not as things but as people. Human beings. Someone else's sons and daughters. They had likely all loved and been loved in return. Ray was callous and crass, sure, but he wasn't an animal. He believed in balance, maybe you could even call it harmony, but he also knew that his path led him to the Marines and the second he signed the papers, it was no longer up to him to make his own way. Adapt or die. He had never gotten cold feet staring down his scope at a target and he never would, because he had been taught that, in dealing with his enemies (or in this case "targets") he should enter a battle gravely, and with compassion. As if he were attending a funeral. He could do that. He could kill these people, but he knew he could not enjoy it. Do your job and then leave it. Walk away.

Ray made his way back to their camp site and stood over Brad with twin handfuls of dirt. He held them over his friend's sleeping form and slowly unclenched his fingers, raining rock and dust slowly onto Brad, who began to stir.

"Wakey wakey, Brad. Get out of that grave and come help Little Ray Ray face the day," Ray put as much cheer into his voice as possible. Brad only grumbled and dragged his forearm over his eyes. Ray brushed his hands off over his friend and then loudly unzipped his pants.

"I wouldn't go back to sleep, buddy. I've really gotta take a piss."

"Okay, okay, I'm up," Brad said, finally pushing himself up into a sitting position and wiping the sleep from his eyes. He looked up at Ray, who handed him a ration pouch before heading over to pick up the handset.

"Overlord, Overlord, this is Hitman 2-3 reporting in that we are awake and awaiting orders to head to emplacement position. How copy, Overlord?" Ray spoke quickly into the handset, his voice retaining its earlier cheer.

"Hitman 2-3, solid copy. Stand by for orders in forty. Out."

Ray set the handset back on top of their radio and then moved to sit on the edge of the fire ring, where Brad was already tearing open his ration pouch. They said nothing as they activated the little flameless heaters and waited for their food to warm up. Ray picked up a canteen and poured an instant coffee pack into it and then recapped it and shook it. He poured two cups of cold coffee and handed one to Brad.

"So, Mr. Taoist, you ready to do some killing today?" Brad asked. He was always grumpy first thing in the morning. Ray ignored the dig at his philosophical leanings.

"Yes, sir. All part of the path, buddy. Don't knock it 'til you walk it," he replied, taking a long pull from his cup. Brad laughed and they were quiet for a bit.

"Have you thought about the possibility that they're going to somehow get out of this precarious situation?" Brad asked.

"Uh…what do you mean?"

"You've seen the files on this ship and these people. Data collected over a pretty impressive smuggling career suggests that they're adept at getting out of impossible situations. Miranda, for one. Adelai Niska for another."

"It's a good story, but what exactly are you saying, Brad?" Ray spoke with a clearly annoyed look on his face.

"I'm saying that they're a lucky crew. And they've gotten out of impossible shit before. It could happen again," Brad pointed out.

"It's a good story, Brad, but don't be such a retard. They're _lucky_ and luck runs out. It's fucking retarded and naïve and juvenile to think that they could continue pissing people off and escaping with minor injuries time after time after time."

"Well, they lost their pilot when he got shiskabobbed on Miranda," Brad pointed out.

"Yeah, that's so sad. I think I might cry, dude. Look, they're not getting out of this. They've been the plucky heroes so many times that it passed 'big damn cliché' a couple miles back. Their number is officially up. I mean, our unit took out that Operative that committed treason or whatever. An _Operative_, dude. Do me a favor and run me through the entire operational plan here, if you could," Ray gestured for Brad to go on.

"Well, our vast and black-cloaked intelligence agents throughout the system found out they'd be running water to this shitty little rock. The Alliance is notified, probably before hands have been shaken on the job. Give our service record in cleaning up, they task us with the job. We land on Beylix two weeks in advance to set up."

"Right, then what happens?" Ray asked, impatient.

"Well, then-" Brad started briefly before being interrupted by an excited, practically yelling Ray.

"Then we contact the guys receiving this water shipment. We pay their security team to refuse to pay Reynolds and his crew and to take shots at them. If they kill them out right, terrific. Everyone packs up and goes home. But if they don't, the positioning of the security team drives them south into our carefully emplaced net of sniper teams and squads of hot, sweaty, pissed off Marines who miss their families. Since we're spearheading this town here and their drop zone is just on the other side of the ridge beyond the town, we sit along MSR 1 and wait for them to pull into town. We do this because Reynolds has chosen a drop point that is essentially flat, allowing no snipers to hide within range. So we're the likely position to make contact here. _And _since we're such fucking superstars, we end up in this position, pulling the trigger on Billy Browncoat and his Rag-Tag Good Time Crew," Ray finished, throwing his empty ration pouch into the dirt with a flourish.

"Noise discipline, dude," Brad teased.

"Yeah, whatever. Add to all of that the fact that we have hidden air support and no orbiting cruisers to tip these poor bastards off and you explain to me exactly how the fuck they get out of it this time?" Ray looked at his spotter expectantly.

"Didn't say they would, Ray. Said they had a history of it."

"Fuck history. They're dying today." As the words left Ray's mouth, the radio handset crackled and he stooped to retrieve it. Brad finished up his breakfast as Ray spoke quickly to command, then hung up. He reached over and slapped Brad's shoulder.

"Pack your shit, buddy. _Serenity _is three hours from atmo. We need to be in position, ready to shoot, in fifteen minutes."

* * *

><p>Mitch had set the autopilot for their approach vectors and hurried down to the cargo bay where the entire crew was gathered in the small space that was unused by the stacked casks of water. Mal stood front and center and Mitch fell in with the rest of the crew in a semi-circle around him.<p>

"Now that we're all here, I'm gonna outline the plan," Mal began.

"Ain't we already been over the plan three times?" Jayne asked, then cursed as River elbowed his ribs from where she stood beside him.

"Yes, Jayne. And here's number four. We're arriving early so's we can drop the water at the delivery point. Mitch, you're gonna dust off and wait for us out to the west."

"Right. Why are we doing that again, Captain?" Mitch furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Because it ain't too smart to have us all in one place. Look, I know it's been a year since Miranda, but Alliance ain't just gonna let us exist. You've seen how they explained it away and you've seen how folks have ate it up. Well, Core-folk, anyhow. And they're the power base. Regardless, if we get in any trouble, we can retreat and you can pick is up just to the south east. Gives us time and distance to get away from any angry folk and it gives y'all a chance to wait off with the engines running hot."

"Excuse me, Captain, but wouldn't this just give you all an opportunity to get shot?"

"Don't be negative, Doc. I feel better having someone in reserve and I know the lack of air support might make our contacts less inclined to shoot us."

"Sir, they shouldn't be inclined to shoot us at all. We're delivering their water, they're paying us."

"Thanks, Zoe. But you know me and preparedness. Alright, so's it's me, Jayne, River, and Zoe stayin' with the cargo. Everyone else is on standby here. We'll keep the mule, for any unforeseen complications, and everything goes okay, you pick us up at the agreed upon place. Sound good?" Mal finished. Around him, heads were nodding. Just as they were all breaking up, an alarm sounded alerting them to their final approach. Mitch took the stairs two at a time and disappeared in the director of the bridge.

"Jayne, help me get the grav-lifts ready."

"Sure, Mal."

* * *

><p>"Here we are again. Baking," Ray commented. Brad grunted in agreement as they both peered down at the town below them.<p>

"Hey, did I tell you Chloe sent me captures of my boy?" Ray asked, pulling back from his scope to squint at Brad.

"No you didn't. They on your data pad?"

"Sure are. Just reach under Ray-Ray's ghillie suit and find the pouch right over my ass. I need to stay on target and look at our shitty little town," Ray replied. After a moment, Brad had retrieved the pad and was dividing his attention between booting up the device and scanning below them.

"Holy shit, he's getting big."

"Sure is. Can't wait to see my little Marine when I get home."

A few hours passed as the sun climbed higher in the sky. They checked in with Overlord and took turns taking quick cat naps under the baking fabric of their ghillie suits. Just before the sun climbed to its highest point in the sky, Brad tapped Ray on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Two o'clock high. Check it out."

Above them, they saw a faint burning streak as a ship entered the atmosphere, growing larger and larger in size until it was headed towards their general position. The whine of the engines could be heard as the ship passed high over the town.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that _Serenity_?" Brad asked. At the exact moment the ship turned to the north and disappeared into a landing over the ridge, their radio crackled.

"All Hitman teams, stand by. Target has landed. Aerial drones in place, real time updates to follow. Keep all lines open."

"Yup. That's _Serenity_. What a hunk of shit. How the _fuck_ is that thing even flying?"

"Prayer, Ray. Prayer."

"I can't do it now because I'm prone and, oh yeah, we're on a mission but if I could, I'd be making the 'jerk off' motion, Brad."

"Duly noted."

* * *

><p>The water casks, secured to their grav-lifts, were stacked neatly in the drop zone. Mal scanned the flat expanse of dirt with binoculars, but saw nothing. No little glints on the horizon signifying a sniper lying in wait. No fed assault teams speeding towards their position. Nothing.<p>

"Well, it seems things is about to go right this time," Mal remaked.

"Shut up!," River and Jayne yelled in unison from where they sat in the mule. Both of their faces were screwed up in disbelief and annoyance.

"What? What'd I say?" Mal said, looking back at his two gun hands and then to Zoe. River through her hands up in exasperation.

"Every single time you gorram say that, Mal, shit always goes south!" Jayne whined. River looked at Mal and slid Jayne's sunglasses further down on her nose so she could look him eye to eye.

"Jayne is correct. Statistical analysis of all past jobs indicate that whenever you say that, and I'll borrow Jayne's words here, 'the shit hits the fan'."

"Statistically speaking, alla' our jobs go south," Jayne grumbled. River considered this, then nodded.

"Jayne is correct again," she said, leaning forward to squeeze Jayne's shoulder. He just grumbled softly and half-heartedly tried shrugging her off. Mal shook his head and looked at Zoe, who _almost_ wore a smirk.

"Oh, don't you start."

"Of course not, sir," she responded demurely. They continued to wait as the sun beat down on their position. As the metal water casks heated in the sun, they popped and creaked and the sound of expanding metal mingled with the sound of the breeze blowing dust across the badlands. It was almost peaceful.

* * *

><p>Inara glided silently onto the bridge and sat in the co-pilot's chair. Mitch sat at the console, eyes sweeping over the various displays and instrument readouts while keeping a close eye on their scanners. He diligently chewed at his thumbnail. Inara cleared her throat to get his attention.<p>

"Nervous?" she asked eyeing his thumb as he chewed on it.

"Huh? Oh, no. No. I've just always done this. Less of a nervous habit and more of an idle one. I sort of wish I could take up smoking," he commented, laughing quietly. Inara raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you're an adult. Why can't you take up smoking?"

"Tried when I was younger, around 13 or so. Couldn't ever adjust to the smoke. Never, ever stopped coughing, for whatever reason. Every single drag of tobacco, I coughed like I was dying," Mitch answered.

"There's always chewing tobacco," Inara pointed out but Mitch just shook his head.

"No good. Need something to do with my hands. That's why I do this," he gestured with his thumb. Inara nodded, but said nothing else. She turned her gaze out onto the dusty hills and Mitch kept his vigil at the console.

* * *

><p>"You, uh…picking up anything, girlie?" Jayne watched as River closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment before opening them and smiling reassuringly at him.<p>

"A woman in a town near here will give birth tonight but no, there is nothing out of the ordinary," she responded. Jayne broke her gaze from where he stood below her, leaning on the mule. River sat back in her seat, lowering Jayne's sunglasses from off her forehead. She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Jayne spat into the dirt.

"That so, huh? Boy 'er girl?"

"Girl."

"That's nice, in a way, I suppose," Jayne nodded again. He turned his face towards her, scrunching his eyes up in the sunlight, looking to see if she understood what he was trying to say. Trying to say that he thought it was nice, new life and all that. New person. Jayne watched through squinted eyes as she smiled and leaned forward to place Jayne's forgotten hat on his head.

"No more squinting."

"Thanks, girl."

* * *

><p>"All Hitman units: subjects are holding position. Maintain mental blocking and temporal screens. Stay alert and report any unusual activity. Overlord, out."<p>

Brad reached up under the hood of his ghillie suit and adjusted the electronic halo that encircled his sweat-soaked head.

"How do we even know if this retardation actually works at masking our minds from Tam?" Brad asked.

"Cause our commanders said so? Just kidding. No, but I imagine they've tested this on more readers like Tam. From what I gather, the Academy is still operational so they'd have no shortage of test subjects," Ray replied, sweeping the landscape below with his scope. Brad was silent for a minute, working a wad of tobacco around in his mouth. He spat into the wind and watched it disappear into the tall grass.

"I just hope it works. I don't want to have to have to stay deployed longer hunting for this people."

"You worry too much, buddy. It'll work."

* * *

><p>River adjusted Jayne's sunglasses for the seventeenth time. They were understandably larger than her head and kept slipping down her face. She sighed out of boredom and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead to drop off the tip of her nose when she shifted in the back seat of the mule. Jayne gripped Vera tightly as he shuffled his feet and kicked rocks away off the toe of his boot. River could sense his boredom as she tugged at the straps of the armor Jayne had given her. She didn't think she would need it, not on this job, but Jayne had given it to her and she wanted to wear it immediately. Regardless of how mundane it might seem (well, mundane for their line of work), Jayne's gift meant quite a bit to her. It was indicative of caring, thoughtfulness, protective instinct. And it was also very, very hot in the mid-afternoon heat but she still wouldn't take it off. She was comforted by the gesture it represented.<p>

"Still nothing?" Jayne asked without looking at her, eyes scanning the horizon. She focused her mind and sent it out in all directions, like radar. All that registered was the beginnings of a birthday party on a farm thirty-three point six miles away. River focused on Jayne and smiled.

"Still nothing," she confirmed. He nodded but River sensed something a millisecond before Jayne spotted the dust plume approaching them on the horizon.

"Them our buyers?" Jayne asked.

"That they are."

"Good, I want to get out of this sun."

* * *

><p>"What the hell is taking so long?" Ray whined. He checked the windage and elevation values on his scope for the fifth time in an hour. Brad shook his head.<p>

"You're the most impatient person I've ever met," Brad said, scanning the horizon with his spotting scope. Ray pulled back from his own scope to glance briefly at Brad, considering this.

"Okay, I admit that I'm impatient, but can I really be the most impatient person you've ever met? That seems like a stretch. See, considering my own perceptions, I'd put my impatience at about a six or seven."

"Out of ten?" Brad asked.

"Of course," Ray nodded, "You disagree?"

"Yeah, I'd put you at at least an 8."

"Well, I guess it all depends on individual perceptions. But you've really never met anyone, _in your entire life_, more impatient than me?"

"Nope, not even close."

"Well, okay. I can accept that."

* * *

><p>River stood next to Jayne, who annoyingly kept moving in front of her, blocking her line of sight, as Mal and Zoe talked with the leader of the group sent to pick up the water, who showed up more numerous and armed than they expected. From their body language, she could see something wasn't right, so she pushed outward and try to pick up anything she could. She could detect nothing, her senses opaque and dulled. River concentrated, felt an ache start in the center of her forehead as she concentrated. Just before she was about to stop trying to see something that might not be there, she caught something, very slight, from the oddly nervous group of men in front of her.<p>

_Deceit._

That was it. Nothing else to go on, not a single shred of thought hinting at their ultimate motive. Wordlessly, she stepped forward so she was side by side with Jayne and took her hand from the butt of her holstered pistol and slipped it into his free hand, squeezing it. She felt him look at her.

"They're lying," She whispered. Jayne immediately tensed, trying to jerk his hand out of River's, but her grip hardened as a way to tell him to wait. They watched as the conversation between parties got more animated. Zoe shuffled her feet in a way that was meant to look like she was restless, simply restoring blood to dormant limbs, but River recognized her as getting into a combat stance.

"What're they trying to pull?" Jayne asked with quiet urgency.

"Don't know. Can't see it, for whatever reason."

"Can't see it? That don't ring normal," Jayne commented, tightening his grip on her hand.

"It's not," River replied. She could feel the muscles in Jayne's body tightening, readying themselves for action, could almost hear his heart beating her in her ears as his adrenal glands started to shift into overdrive.

"What do we do?" He trusted her to make the right decision, knowing how obscured her information currently was. River could feel that Jayne would follow her lead without question. He trusted her implicitly. The thought surprised her for a brief, warm moment before she came back to the task at hand. Her hand dropped out of Jayne's and he took Vera's safety off with a quiet click. Her hand continued to her holstered pistol and her fingers wrapped around it.

"We kill them all," River's voice was cold and her body set into motion. As she took two steps forward, simultaneously drawing her gun, she saw Jayne in her periphery, dropping to one knee and shouldering Vera, ready to provide covering fire.

* * *

><p>Ray's heart started to hammer the second her heart the muffled echo of automatic weapons fire in the direction of their targets but immediately after, his training kicked in and he began to calm himself, keeping his breathing strictly regulated. He and Brad sat in silence as the gunfire continued, punctuated by several low booms.<p>

"Looks like Billy Browncoat brought some grenades," Brad commented. Ray said nothing as he pulled back to recheck the dials on his scope.

* * *

><p>"Every single gorram fuckin' time! Every time, Zoe!" Mal screamed as he drove the mule haphazardly out of the drop zone and into the hills as their pursuers followed.<p>

"Respectfully, sir, shut up and drive," Zoe said through gritted teeth.

"Alright, alright! I was just sayin'," Mal said, and cringed as both River and Jayne told him to shut up in near unison. He remained silent after that, navigating the mule at breakneck speeds down through the pass, headed towards the lowlands and the little town they flew over to their south. Mal dared to take one hand from the controls to pull the radio from the belt and inform Serenity of their impending, dramatic, harried arrival. By the time he was off the radio, he could practically hear the hum of the engines spinning just under Mitch's voice. But it could have been his imagination, what with all the gunfire and cussing from Jayne.

River and Jayne crouched in the back of the mule, exchanging furious gunfire with their pursuers. Rounds clattered and ricocheted off the back of the mule as Mal charged down through the hills. Jayne rose up from his crouch, fired off a high explosive grenade and watched as it detonated in the cab of the vehicle chasing them. The vehicle swerved into the rock wall and tumbled end over end, belching smoke and fire and the flaming bodies of its occupants. Jayne dropped down behind cover and opened the breach, extracting the empty grenade casing. He looked at River, who handed him another grenade.

"So…grenades were a good idea."

"Thanks," River replied, reaching a submachine gun over their covering and firing off a burst without even looking. Jayne shook his headed in mild amusement and reloaded pulled Vera closer to him before standing up and aiming his grenade launcher at the next target. One vehicle left in pursuit. He steadied his breathing and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

><p>Ray felt Brad tense up at the exact same moment he did as they both spotted the dust plume on the other edge of town. Brad was instantly on the radio.<p>

"Overlord, this is Hitman 2-3. Have visual on a possible technical heading south on MSR 1 towards grid 22-6-357. Need aerial confirmation of target presence, how copy?"

"Solid copy, Hitman 2-3. Wait one."

"This time I bet they really mean one," Ray commented, swinging his scope to rest on the parcel of road just to the north of the town where the vehicle, which had dipped into a slight depression, should be cresting momentarily.

"Hitman 2-3, this is Overlord. Targets are confirmed. You are cleared weapons-free to engage and destroy four targets aboard technical. Repeat: targets confirmed, engage and destroy."

"Overlord, Hitman 2-3 copies," Brad threw aside the radio handset and swept his scope over the town, then towards the terrain south. Next to him, Ray unlocked and pulled the bolt of the rifle and made sure a round was chambered.

"Okay, Ray, we're gonna engage them south of the town, right before the curve in the road."

"Copy that," Ray swung his scope quickly down to the curve in the road, "At the curve. Give me the new dope."

"Range to target: nine-seven-nine meters," Brad read off the value in a calm, even tone.

"Set."

"Wind, moving from west to east: quarter value."

"Set."

"On scope," Brad commanded. Ray peered through his optics and swung the crosshairs back up to the vehicle that was now traveling at decreasing speed on the edge of town. He saw nothing pursuing them and watched as they slowed from breakneck velocity to a fast clip. People in town quickly ran out of the streets to let the howling mule pass. Even at this distance, the scope's magnification allowed him to pick out vague facial features that matched up to the detailed profiles they had studied. He settled his crosshairs over the head of the driver, who he saw was Reynolds, the Browncoat. The crosshairs of his scope remained exactly over Reynolds' forehead for a moment before Ray took his target's velocity and the velocity and trajectory of the rifle round into account and put a slight lead on him.

"Going for the driver?"

"Roger that."

"Ready to shoot?"

Ray steadied his breathing, monitored his heartbeat beating into the ground beneath him. Sight the target, wait for the command sequence, slow half-breath out, squeeze the trigger in between heartbeats, release trigger, cycle action, sight new target. He was in his zone now, complete and total focus on the face at the end of his scope. He placed his index finger lightly on the trigger.

"I tally."

The vehicle exited the other end of the town and broke into the open ground, headed south towards the bend that would carry them east to whatever extraction point they had agreed upon with their pilot prior to landing. They'd never make it there.

"Fire…"

The only sound audible to him, aside from Brad's voice, was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Steady, inexorable.

"Fire…"

Reynolds' face seemed relieved through the scope. Almost out of danger.

"Fire."

Ray squeezed the trigger and the rifle spoke, pushing back into his shoulder.

* * *

><p>"Why aren't we in the air yet?" Inara yelled at Mitch as he pulled up on the controls and got <em>Serenity <em>into the sky. Kaylee had spun the engine so it would give them an extra burst of speed and now joined Inara and Simon on the bridge with their pilot. Mitch scowled.

"Care to rephrase that?"

"How long until we're on them?" Inara asked, impatient.

"Less than fifteen minutes," he replied. Simon nodded.

"They should be able to handle themselves for fifteen minutes."

Kaylee stood beside him, wringing her hands.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck, Ray!" Brad exclaimed as the both watched the vehicle pitch down into the dirt and flip end over end across the plain before grinding to a debris-trailing halt just after the turn in the road.<p>

"They fucking went over a rock or some shit and my shot placed low. Chest instead of head. Targets?"

Brad swore in Mandarin and then peered down at the crash site. He could pick out no detail among the swirling clouds of dirt other than the hulk of the vehicle itself.

"Wait until the dust clears, then we'll re-engage."

Ray nodded and threw the bolt, ejecting the spent casing and feeding a live round into the chamber before locking it down and resuming his firing stance, his breathing calm and regular.

* * *

><p>Malcom Reynolds was pinned under a piece of wreckage fifteen feet from the main body of the mule. The taste of copper flooded the back of his throat and he couldn't feel anything below his waist. He tried to squeeze his fingers and could barely manage to make a fist for all the hot, sharp pain spread throughout his chest. He landed so that he was facing the ridge formed by the hills in the distance, maybe a thousand meters away. Probably where the shot came from, no way of knowing until the dust cleared and they started firing again. Mal shifted his head to get a better look at his chest but all he could see was the red spreading across his clothing. The round punctured the armor. From the numbness in his legs, he figured it had severed the spine. Tried to talk but found he couldn't. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Zoe calling for him. <em>I'm sorry, Zoe.<em>

She was lying up against the mule where it lay on its side. Behind her, Jayne and River were tangled in an unconscious heap. Zoe tried to stand, hauling herself up by gripping whatever she could reach on the mule. When she put weight on her right leg, she knew it was broken through both bones when she went crashing back to the dirt. Her breathing was heavy and she coughed and tasted blood, wiped her hand across her lips. Mal was going to die. There was no questioning the spreading pool beneath him, the disjointed and awkward movement of his hands and upper body. The rasping cough that speckled his lips with blood. Wash was dead and the very last person in the universe that she had strong, deep ties to was going to die. Zoe looked back at Jayne and River, who were beginning to stir themselves back into consciousness. The dust around them had settled and acalm had settled over the crash site. She could hear birds overhead, singing. _Fuck it._ She used her arms and her one working leg to drag herself out from behind cover, towards Mal. Jayne was apparently fully conscious behind her, asking her what happened, where she was going.

She was halfway to Mal when the back of his head exploded.

* * *

><p>"Second target, crawling from west to-"<p>

"First target is still alive," Ray interrupted.

"He's done for. Tally the second target."

"No. Reynolds is suffering. I'm ending it," Ray centered his crosshairs over Reynolds forehead and watched briefly as the man struggled to draw breath, his eyes rolling in their sockets, possibly in disbelief. He pulled the trigger and ended it, then cycled the action. Brad was silent beside him.

"Second target, Brad?"

"Right, second target…"

* * *

><p>Jayne was still dazed but was aware enough to hear the shot a second after he saw Mal's life end. <em>No fuck no what is gorram goin' on Mal oh my God.<em>

"Zoe, get back here!" Jayne hollered, stumbling to crouch at the absolute edge of cover he could be at without exposing himself. He glanced into the back of the mule, searching for his weapons, and yanked Vera out and checked her load. His legs were weak and shaky under him and he tried not to look at Mal's body. Behind him, he heard River muttering "no" over and over again as she fought to come fully around.

"Zoe, what the ruttin' hell are you doing?" Jayne yelled as he watched Zoe roll on her side so she was looking south. She raised her left hand out of the dirt and motioned something towards her. A heartbeat later, her head snapped back from the impact, spinning her so she was lying flat. Jayne's eyes widened and his heart hammered as he watched the blood soak the dirt and grass around her. His jaw clenched and he found that he couldn't swallow. His teeth bared, Jayne drew in ragged breaths against a fist pressed against his mouth.

"Oh God, Zoe. _Fuck! _Jesus Christ alive, what are we gonna do?" he asked no one in particular. Suddenly seized with a mix of rage and what he figured to be grief, he surged to his feet and stuck Vera over the top of the mule, emptying her magazine.

* * *

><p>Automatic fire echoed across the valley floor into the hills where Ray had just ejected another spent casing. The rounds fired from Cobb's Callahan hit fifty feet to their left and twelve feet down slope.<p>

"Not even close," Brad said, a hint of almost pity in his voice. Ray grunted in agreement and setting his crosshairs over where the weapon had appeared.

* * *

><p>Mal was dead, Zoe was dead. Wash and Book were long since gone. <em>So much blood how did it all fit inside of them?<em> River's mind was an absolute maelstrom of grief and confusion. She had sensed _nothing. _There had been absolutely no indication that this would happen. Her mind was fracturing now at an alarming pace and she couldn't stop looking at the bodies out in the grass.

_ They're not "the bodies". They are Mal and Zoe and they are your family and you let them die._

"No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO!" River wailed, trying to drag herself closer to Jayne, who immediately dropped down with his Vera to kneel beside her. He dragged her towards him and the weight and warmth of his hands felt good, familiar, familial, romantic, all at once, but it could not break through the fracturing inside of her, the grief that was lancing every single conscious second. Jayne pulled her against him, half hugging, half cradling.

"River, you gotta snap out of it. You gotta tell me what to do, how I can get us out of this, get us back on _Serenity_ and off this ruttin' planet. Please. _Please_. Tell what to do," Jayne's voice was edging on the hysterical, which was very out of character for him, as far as River was concerned. She looked up into his eyes and saw his own grief, his concern, his affection, for her. His rage and pain and the beginning of tears in the corners of his blue eyes. She gripped his upper arms as he fought to steady her and she saw, with absolute clarity, that Jayne would never see his family ever again. None of them would. Their time was up and it was time to move on. She used the clarity to feel out the situation.

River couldn't sense the shooter or shooters anywhere out there, but had ample evidence that they were out there. The town was too far behind them to reach without being picked off and there was no cover. The weapons available to them were useless without the ability to aim them without getting their faces blown off. This felt like Alliance vengeance for exposing their dirty secret. The final end to the cover up. _Serenity_ would never get off Beylix, would never be allowed to remain flying. Chances are they waited for her to be airborne and plotted a firing solution immediately. None of them would make it out alive. They would all go to meet Book and Wash together. As a family. Calm washed over her in a wave. She shut her eyes and took a wet, shuddering breath. When she opened them, Jayne was looking at her as if she were able to fix anything. She leaned forward and kissed him, her hands resting on his cheeks. River pulled back and looked at him. She shook her head.

"We ain't going home, are we?"

Another shake of her head.

"We gonna die? The others, even?" Jayne asked, his voice thick. River nodded.

"I'm sorry. Jayne, I'm so sorry. I should…I should have seen this before now. Stopped it."

"It ain't your fault. It ain't all your burden to bear, all the time. This is 'cause of Miranda. Has to be. And we all made that choice our own selves," Jayne said, his voice wavering slightly. River stroked his cheek and wiped away the buildup of tears before they managed to fall from his eyes. He leaned his forehead against hers.

"Can we do this together?" he asked, finally, steeling himself with the last resolve left in him, "I'd like to do it together and with some dignity to it, if at all possible."

River listened then looked at Jayne and nodded.

"Carry me."

* * *

><p>It had been six minutes from the first shot to this moment. Ray had a good head for times and schedules. In another four minutes, they'd be hearing from Overlord requesting a status. And they still had two targets behind cover. They might have to call in air support to get the last two kills. Brad seemed to read his mind.<p>

"They don't show themselves and decide they can maybe wait us out, we'll have to call for reinforcements to come flank them."

"I know. I'm thinking air support. I wish we had another unit covering this grid from a different angle. Get eyes on our two hold outs," Ray said, finger still lightly placed on the trigger.

"Movement! Movement from target area. Back on scope."

Ray sighted back in on the destroyed vehicle. He could see movement right along the edge of it, a flash of clothing, a brief glimpse of long brown hair. And then, suddenly, the two remaining targets stepped into view.

Cobb was holding Tam curled up in his arms, her hand over his heart as they walked out into the open, carefully placing themselves near their fallen friends. Tam's face was hidden by the curtain of her hair but Cobb's was visible. There was no expression other than hard resolve. They stood there motionless, facing them. Ray watched as Tam's thumb rubbed steadily over Cobb's heart.

"Are they surrendering?" Brad asked, "We could probably take them alive. I'll radio."

Ray heard Brad reach for the radio and pulled back quickly to look at him.

"No."

"What?"

"It's kinder this way, Brad," Ray explained. Brad nodded.

"Your call."

They got back in position. In the distance, they could hear the faint whine of engines. Ray settled the crosshairs quickly over Tam's head, which moved to replace her hand over Cobb's heart. Her hand went quickly to Cobb's and gripped it tightly. Their mouths were moving. Ray breathed in and out, slow and regular.

"On target."

"Fire, fire, fire."

* * *

><p>"I hope we're all together…uh…wherever it is we're going. Would be okay with me," Jayne said awkwardly. River tightened her grip on his hand.<p>

"We will be," she said softly, "We're going together."

Jayne nodded and his breathing increased, shallow and hard and bracing.

"I might've loved you," he managed to force out.

"I might've loved you back."

They closed their eyes.

* * *

><p>"Is there any possible way the ship can move any faster?" Simon asked impatiently. Mitch gritted his teeth and tried to remain calm.<p>

"Yes, if we were in an entirely different, faster ship. But we're not. And this is as fast as it can go," he ground out while bringing _Serenity _over a rise. Below and ahead of them lay the small hamlet they flew over and he slowed the ship so they could scan the terrain below. They cleared the town and continued south.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Mitch breathed. He banked _Serenity_ low and to left and circled overhead as the remaining crewmembers looked down at the destroyed mule and the four bodies lying in a dark red swath of blood that spanned several feet of dirt. Mal's head was pitched forward and the external cameras were able to bring into focus the chewed up, red pulp that had been the back of his head. Zoe lay sprawled on her back, eyes to the sky but unseeing. River was lying across Jayne, who had a hole drilled neatly through center mass of his broad chest, and though her hair, as always, obscured her face, the externals showed that the left side of her head was misshapen, stove in or missing altogether.

Kaylee burst into tears, sobbing with a hand pressed over her mouth.

Inara quickly reached for the back of the co-pilot's chair as her legs threatened to give out, tears flowing down her otherwise beautifully composed face.

"River, no…no, my God, _River_…Land! Land now!" Simon's voice was heavily colored by hysteria and shock.

"We can't…" Mitch replied feebly.

"_That's my sister!_ She could be alive…" Simon tried. Next to him, Kaylee shook her head, completely beyond words, eyes alight with anguish.

"Simon…they're gone," Inara's voice was quiet, drained. Simon spared her a glance and saw her desperately falling back on her Companion training, fighting to maintain any kind of composure. He thought it looked like she was failing miserably.

"Then we…we have to get them back. We have to get their…_them_ back onboard," Simon found he couldn't say it. _Their bodies_. To give it voice was to make it real and he wanted this to be a dream. Alarms cut through the sound of Kaylee's sobs and, in a daze, Simon turned toward Mitch.

"Proximity alert. Let's see what we..._oh for fuck's sake._ There's a ship just lifted off. Maybe a hundred, hundred and fifty clicks off and closing fast. I'm really sorry, but we're going for Black, hard burn," Mitch swung the ship around.

"We can't just-" Kaylee began.

"Nothing we can do," he cut her off sharply and swung the ship into an exit vector.

As the ship made one final, low circle and headed out over the field, Simon looked down through the viewing ports and saw two heavily camouflaged figures with rifles shouldered moving steadily across the open plain towards the wreckage of the mule.

He watched uncomprehendingly as the one figure carrying the longer, scoped rifle turned to look at the ship and lifted its arm and waved.

* * *

><p>They had just come down off the ridge and had moved into the plain to confirm the kills up close when Brad gestured for them to stop, pressing the radio's earpiece tightly against his head. They dropped to their knees and Ray covered them with his rifle.<p>

"They've approved a nuclear package for _Serenity _as they exit atmo."

"Kinda figured that," Ray responded, "Completely wipe _Serenity_ from existence."

Brad said nothing and they started cutting through the grass once more. Halfway across the plains, they watched_ Serenity_ fly over town and circle the target area a hundred or so yards ahead of them. After a few brief circuits, they banked and flew over them, presumably on an escape vector. Brad kept moving, but Ray found himself stopping and watching as the ship passed overhead in a whine of engines. He thought he saw a figure in a window on the bridge, looking at him. On reflex, he lifted his arm and waved. The ship passed out of sight and Ray dropped his arm back to his weapon.

"What are you doing?"

Ray looked back at Brad, who lifted a hand and mimicked his wave.

"Just being neighborly."

Brad looked like he was about to say something but was interrupted as the sound of an approaching missile grew louder. Within seconds, there was loud clap overhead as the supersonic missile system and its multi-kiloton yield warhead streaked overhead and into the upper atmosphere, following _Serenity_.

"Cover!" Ray yelled and they both instinctively took a knee and covered and closed their eyes.

"Muntion contact and detonation," Brad intoned, repeating the radio traffic as they opened their eyes.

"Good effect on target?" Ray asked.

"Devastating," Brad confirmed.

They looked at each other for a moment before turning their heads skyward to watch the brilliant white light from the explosion fade from the sky only to be replaced by a much more subtle, yet equally brilliant blue.

* * *

><p><strong>IMPORTANT NOTE: I will try to put this as clearly and diplomatically as possible: do not review this story. Thank you for reading it, I hope (though I ultimately don't care) that some of you enjoyed it, but do not review it. I have built a house on Don't Give A Fuck Avenue and, as that might imply, I don't give a lovely motherfuck what you think about me, this story, or the commentary it contains about <em>Firefly<em>. Any and all reviews, positive or negative, will be deleted as fast as I can arrange it. Outside of posting this story, I have no desire to converse with or otherwise interact with you people in any way, shape, or form. Thanks again.**

**NOTE: EDITED TO PUT SOME GODDAMN BREAKS IN THE STORY SO IT'S NOT A JUMBLED MESS.**


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